


Ice and Illness

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Angst, Early in Canon, Gen, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February of 1881 was longer than any February had a right to be, full of harsh winds and hidden ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice and Illness

**Author's Note:**

> For the [first July Writing Prompt](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1048617.html) at Watson's Woes.

February of 1881 was longer than any February had a right to be, full of harsh winds and hidden ice. I still unconsciously expected the Afghan heat, and every time I stepped outside surprise hit me along with the cold. With my injuries making journeys still more difficult, I avoided leaving my new lodgings entirely, going for tobacco or other necessities no more than once a week.

I was still unused to living with another person without the enforced closeness of hospitals or the army. My fellow-lodger was apparently still engrossed in his chemical researches, and even with my constant occupation of our rooms I scarcely saw him. When we were both at home, he was often entertaining one of his strange visitors, or perhaps clients, and at his request for privacy I would duck into my bedroom, rather than face the weather.

My life seemed strewn with potential hazards, not only when I was walking through icy streets but when I was at home, trying to determine the facts of Holmes’ profession without offending him or simply stand up without reminding myself of my wounds. I passed the time by rereading Poe and Tennyson, and being sardonically grateful that the weather prevented me from using up my pension on more dubious pastimes, even if the alternatives were melancholia or boredom.


End file.
